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The retching and vomiting
of morning sickness wanted to tear me apart. Crackers and jello sent me
looking for pectin to quickly calm the misery.
“I’ve waited too long and
now I’m in trouble. Should have had this lump in my side checked. Here’s
the part I hate, “ and I picked up the phone to call the gynaecologist.
A lined drawing of a woman
by Picasso hung on the wall behind the doctor. He was a slight looking man
with an aristocratic bearing. He kept his expression bland as he spoke.
“I would say, you have
fibroid tumors. I advise an abortion. You will not be able to deliver. It
would probably be a bloody mess and you might not come off the table.”
My experience with doctors
made me aware of their grandstanding. To myself I thought, “nothing like
the old, one, two to get my attention."
“I usually make it a
practice to get several opinions, doctor. Will this be acceptable to you.
“Of course, of course. I
always welcome the opinion of another doctor.”
He did seem relieved to see
me stand and move toward the door.
“Thank you, doctor, I’ll be
calling you.” But in my mind I was thinking, “when hell freezes over.” I
kept a smile and waved a friendly good-by as I walked past his
receptionist
“Abortion!” The word raked
at my mind like some clawing animal. “There must be someone up there who
likes to joke with me and my sanity.” At this time it was a point to
ponder. “How am I going to deal with this issue? I have no idea what the
answer might be.”
Research in religious
material brought no answers in that year of 1975. My mind went back over
Hammurabi’s code once studied in Western Civilization. An eye for an eye?
No! No! That has nothing to do with this. Sometimes the things taught in
college tore at me and I did not pray before Rhonda’s birth as my Native
American people taught the mother to do daily and as the wisdom of the
prophets taught the mother of Samson to do. Before Mark was born I was
humbled even unto my knees and I was able to keep my sanity.
Slowly but slowly my mind
began to return to the doctor of my own faith I had used at Oklahoma City.
Could I put this matter on his shoulders?
When the man discussed my
situation he was obvious baffled. I knew he was at an indecision. His
faith, the circumstance, what to do?
It was evident he was
trying to think through what to do.
“Doctor, I know a physician
in Dallas who delivered my son. I would like to have an opportunity to
call him for an appointment. He was very good with my last delivery. This
doctor again seemed relieved to have me walk out of his office even though
I knew he would be there for whatever had to be done.
Our car sped along the
highways on our way back into the big city of Dallas. Once again I felt
the love for the country rise in my bosom. “If there wasn’t so many
bridges to cross I could live here forever,” I told Rodney.
My physician who delivered
Mark now greeted me in his office. He was flanked by two other doctors who
were with him. After examination he turned to one of the men.
“I want you to do an
abdominal on her".
As the other doctor studied
the pressure of his hands on my abdomen he said, “there is something here
other than a normal pregnant uterus.”
No assumptions were being
made by these doctors. Their skill was as careful as an artist’s study of
some linear feature on a model’s face in order to catch a likeness. |
